


It’s Only Paranoia

by Molly_Hats



Series: Panic, but Carry On [1]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Mental Health Issues, OCD, Obsessive compulsive disorder (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly_Hats/pseuds/Molly_Hats
Summary: Bruce Wayne is not a mentally healthy person, guys.Delves into his problems from Jason’s death to the end of BvS





	It’s Only Paranoia

Bruce Wayne knew he had issues. He knew on some level that going out to punch crime in the face while dressed as a bat was an unorthodox and flawed way of dealing with trauma or grief. 

The problem arose in the old joke:

Is it really paranoia if everyone actually is out to get you?

His overpreparedness had saved his and others’ lives so many times, he wasn’t sure where to draw the line between healthy and unhealthy. He couldn’t risk getting it wrong, right?

He couldn’t risk any metahumans going off the rails. Yes, they were his friends, yes, his plans might fall into the wrong hands, yes, they did, again and again and again, but the WHAT IF pressed on his chest, took on faces and images. He watched Gotham, Metropolis, Blüdhaven die too many times to count, other cities less frequently. He blinked and he was back in the rubble, running, running towards the cries for help.

Maybe if he’d been more careful, if he’d done this or that or developed better armor or clicked his damn heels together Jason would be alive. If he’d known to strengthen the buildings—he should have done it anyway—the man would have legs, he wouldn’t be dead with so many others in the capital. He wouldn’t have been murdered, used as a pawn in the hands of a man who wanted to prove a theological point with two mortal men. Two mortal, broken men.

It felt like the bat only brought down problems, but he couldn’t...he couldn’t give it up. He couldn’t be Bruce Wayne full time. 

The Brand, that was for Jason. Jason had hated the scum that hurt kids, the human traffickers, the molesters. Bruce wouldn’t kill, but he wasn’t crying over anything the prisoners chose to dole out. After all, even without the brand, the other prisoners would know.

He remembered that night, how he’d run up to the rooftop in a panic, hearing the scuffle, terrified for Jason, his mind racing as he reconsidered his every decision up to this point. He’d found Jason standing at the edge of the roof, cape gone, mask ripped. He turned to Bruce and said in a low voice, “the bastard fell.”

He didn’t say “I couldn’t save him.” 

Bruce knew he couldn’t have, but he wondered if Jason tried. He hugged his son close and didn’t say anything. Jason didn’t cry, eyes half closed and barely responsive.

Bruce wouldn’t let himself wonder how he felt about the death, but his mind saw the “Do not enter” as a “welcome” sign, as always, and it raced down that road with gusto. He wasn’t as worried about the rapist as he was about Jason, about the guilt and the fear and the shame from the accident (or not). He felt ashamed of that to a degree, a tinge of guilt, an accusation that he wasn’t sticking to his principles, that this was a slippery slope, that he’d wake up executing criminals and be just as bad as Joe Chill. But he shoved it aside, thought his oath again (“ _I swear, by the spirits of my parents, to avenge their deaths by spending the rest of my life warring on all criminals._ ”), then another couple times to clear his head, and held Jason tighter until Jason pushed him away.

After...after the events, he cleansed the house of Jason, hands trembling, heart beating hard in his chest even as he struggled to control his breathing. He couldn’t stand the signs all around, the reminders that he failed and would never see Jason again, never come home to find his report card proudly taped to the bat computer’s monitor (in lieu of a fridge), never again see Jason run up to him with the excited news that he’d tracked down another first edition, never again watch Jason leaping around in the costume again, grinning, focused but in his element. He closed off his room. He removed the photographs, leaving bare patches all around the house. 

Alfred urged him to get help. Like every other time, Bruce ignored him.


End file.
